


Overture

by Raletha



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Adult Themes, Challenge Response, Community: 30_lemons, Erotica, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink, M/M, Post-Canon, Psychological Drama, Romance, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raletha/pseuds/Raletha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[30 Lemons] Trowa discovers he likes to watch Quatre.  Circa 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> For theme #2 "The Audience" on the livejournal community, 30_lemons.

The first time I recognised this desire within myself was a day Quatre and I were shopping for a new dining room suite. It was such an ordinary, domestic sort of day, the sort of day that still left me surprised, even these several years after the War. Going to a movie, sitting in a café, loading the dishwasher, surfing channels on the television -- shopping for furniture -- all of these things delighted me. I'd been enjoying myself, enchanted by normalcy. I hadn't yet realized that because the ordinariness of my life still held such novelty, it had left me somewhat apathetic about considering other forms of new experience. Today was different.

Quatre and I had been to several different furniture shops over the weekend, from design galleries to discount warehouses, and we had recently returned to one of the more exclusive shops from the previous day. It offered minimalist designs in unconventional materials, including such space-made marvels as Gundanium. There was a table there we especially liked. Having a dining table with legs of Gundanium was so whimsical and unnecessary, it made me smile. It even made me laugh. (I suggested to Quatre we could name our new table Heavylegs.) Most importantly, it reinforced the reality of peace.

That had been the general content of my thoughts when I left Quatre to browse among chairs to match Heavylegs while I found the store's restrooms. When I returned, I saw Quatre before he saw me. He was talking with a young salesman: a young, attractive salesman. They weren't just talking either. The young man was flirting with Quatre, and Quatre -- judging by his smile and posture -- was not only flattered, but returning the attention. It wasn't anything overt or obscene, just smiles and head tilts and lingering eye contact, but it arrested my progress back. A wholly new desire slammed into my gut leaving me lightheaded and breathless: I wanted to watch them.

I wasn't jealous: not at all. I was turned on -- hotter than I could easily recall -- to see someone else wanting Quatre, and to see Quatre blushing under his attention. I watched them make their way over to the table we liked, and it looked like the sales clerk was now giving Quatre his pitch. A deep breath steadied me, and I folded my jacket over my arm to disguise my physical disarray. I strolled back to Quatre, smiled at him and smiled at the clerk, who was even more handsome up close. Of Indian descent perhaps, he had a musical accent and beautiful dark eyes. The warm brown of his skin I thought would look striking against the pale of Quatre's.

That was the first time I thought about watching Quatre with another man.

 

When we got home that day, it didn't take me long to coax Quatre to his bedroom. But we didn't go to the bed. I fucked him on the floor in front of his full length mirror. I watched his face and pretended that my body belonged to the young man from the furniture store, and that I was watching him fuck Quatre.

It was intense for me; I came hard, wrenching and helpless, turned inside out. But afterward, when the euphoria cleared, I felt like a pervert. Somehow I'd betrayed Quatre, even if only within my own mind. I put such things from my thoughts for a time, refused to let my fantasies go in that direction. At least I tried.

 

My resolve held a few weeks, until one night when Quatre and I were lying on the couch together reading. It was the same day the new table and chairs had been delivered. He set aside his book and simply said to me, without preamble, "You like to watch me, don't you."

I put down the magazine I was reading and sat up against the arm of the sofa. I studied him, leaning against the opposite arm and tried to understand what it was he'd just told me I liked.

He stroked my bare ankle with warm, ticklish fingertips. "Sexually, I mean. You like to watch me. Like with the mirror last week. And, uh, yesterday." Quatre glanced away, his embarrassment pinkening his cheeks. "Yesterday when I was masturbating in the shower."

I could feel my eyes widen. I didn't know he knew about the shower watching. It had happened more or less accidentally, but yes, I had enjoyed watching him. My shame had me pulling away from his touch and stammering the beginning of an apology. "Quatre, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry, It just--"

"It's okay," he said, his familiar timbre of command forcing me to hear his words over my self-recrimination. He reached forward, his hand wrapping strong around my ankle before I could fully retrieve it. His gaze held mine with the full force of his charisma. Despite myself, I couldn't look away. "Trowa, it's okay," he repeated. "I knew you were there, but I pretended I didn't." He smiled, suddenly shy again, and confessed, "It really turned me on."

"Yeah?" That was all I could say. My embarrassment was too tangled up with relief for eloquence.

"Yeah," Quatre affirmed as he leaned forward, crawled over me, and kissed me hotly. When the kiss ended, he asked, breathless, "Would you like to watch me again?"

 

A few minutes later and I was. Watching him again.

Quatre knelt on the bed wearing only a half unbuttoned dress shirt, with his thighs splayed, facing me, as I sat in the room's armchair paralysed, not only by the naked eroticism of Quatre's performance, but also by my lingering feelings of perversion. The relief of knowing that Quatre liked me to watch him hadn't been quite enough to assuage my discomfort of wanting to. I thought about the shop clerk again. For a moment I imagined him kneeling behind Quatre, pretended it was his hands manipulating Quatre into pleasure.

I wondered if Quatre ever fantasized about things like that: someone not me touching him.

On the bed, he turned around and shifted to his hands and knees. He showed me himself stroking the lubricant around his anus. My gaze fixed on his fingers as they pushed inside him, preparing him to receive the butt plug he favoured.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked him as he poised the toy at his opening and started to push it in. The black rubber gleamed darkly against his skin as his body swallowed it.

"Hmm," he started, not a thoughtful sound, but a pleasured one. "You," he murmured, casting a glance over his shoulder at me; his fingers slipped from the base of the plug to fondle his testicles. "Your eyes on me. Makes me feel sexy."

"You are sexy," I said. I tightened my grip on the chair's arms and stretched my legs, letting the pull of muscles ease the ache in my groin. I didn't want to touch myself; I didn't want to come, not yet, not soon. I only wanted to watch Quatre. I wanted to experience myself watching him, this new found quality of brain-baking arousal that was _this_ , just this.

Quatre's hand returned to the base of the plug, jiggling it just so. Arousal bloomed across his pale thighs.

"Do you ever...?" I started in a rush, and then stopped. His eyes slipped shut with a shuddering gasp. His face was still turned my way, so I could see his lips form the gasp. Wanton.

"Do I ever...?" he murmured, without opening his eyes.

"Think about someone else." I sat up and leaned forward as Quatre shifted again, lowering himself to one elbow and arching his back, his ass high in the air, his cock and balls suspended heavily between his spread legs as he palmed them. "Fucking you. Someone else fucking you," I said.

He didn't reply immediately, just moved his hand to wrap his fingers around his shaft.

"Sometimes," he whispered as he stroked himself. "Sometimes," he said again, even more softly.

"I think about it too," I admitted.

"Me?" he asked, "Or you?"

"You. Watching you with someone else."

He didn't speak, but he released himself and moved back to his hands and knees.

I kept talking. I wanted to tell him now, wanted him to understand even if I didn't. "You're so... the way you are when you're turned on, or when I fuck you. I love watching you."

Quatre turned halfway back around, to look at me, and sat back on his heels. All his attention was on me now, his gaze lucid and serious. "You want to watch someone else fuck me?"

His tone was unreadable. There was -- at least -- no incredulity or offense, but nevertheless, I hesitated for several breaths. Then I gave into the inevitability of his gaze, and I nodded.

"Yeah?" Quatre said with a timid but very genuine smile slowly curving his lips.

I smiled then too, the last remnants of my shame dissipating into both Quatre's smile and my present arousal.

"We could," he offered carefully, softly, looking into my eyes and holding my smile. "We could, if you want, do that sometime."

He stretched out a hand to me, and I joined him on the bed.

  


 **the end ******


End file.
